


Don't Sweat It

by dreamingbutterfly



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Canon Universe, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lowercase, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingbutterfly/pseuds/dreamingbutterfly
Summary: You're the stylist and he just finished stage rehearsals.Inspired by this lovely gif: https://twitter.com/woozi_mp4/status/1181092069630074880[Optional bias - Any kpop idol works but I wrote it with ATEEZ in mind]
Relationships: ATEEZ Ensemble/Reader, Choi Jongho/Reader, Choi San/Reader, Jeong Yunho/Reader, Jung Wooyoung/Reader, Kang Yeosang/Reader, Kim Hongjoong/Reader, Park Seonghwa/Reader, Song Mingi/Reader
Kudos: 23





	1. picture this

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while listening to slenderbodies' belong and king on repeat if you'd like bgm.

he finishes a rehearsal, walking back stage and smiling at you, and you smile back instinctively. he's sweating of course, but the musk of his cologne hides any odor. he calls your name, in a bit of a whiny tone because he's tired but performing is such a thrill and he's always excited to meet the fans. 

"how was i," he asks, knowing you watched from the monitors, and you give two thumbs up, "amazing! as always of course!" he gives a grateful smile as he sits in the chair infront of you, ready for touch up, your words always help lift up his spirits, you have no idea how much he appreciates them. "it's because of you," he glances at you in the mirror's reflection, "the outfit and make up is really nice" a shy compliment back, though you don't realize. 

"they do, but they only enhance what's already there. you're naturally beautiful" he blushes at your words and you smile, oh how did this man go from looking cool and dominating the stage to being cute and shy here? "now sit still, i need to wipe off your sweat first" and you do, starting with your hands against his neck, gentle yet firm. dipping into the v line of his shirt, you feel him tense up, heart rating dancing a little. so does yours, making you avoid eye contact with him for the moment. this part of your job is always awkward but you hope he doesn't mind it much. 

the moment couldn't have lasted more than a minute but it felt so much longer. you wipe your hands, clearing your throat to rid of the awkward tension. "alright, let's touch up your make up," is what you mean to say but you don't get past the first syllable when you meet his eyes in the mirror. smoldering, gaze burning into yours with such intensity you feel the air sucked out of you.

he looks like he'd eat you alive.

take you apart slowly, messily, lazily with the grace of a predator that's taking pleasure in a long awaited kill. he'd keep you on edge all night, begging and crying out his name for release, for him to go faster, harder, anything oh god, please anything but no, he wouldn't give in to you that easily, not when he's been waiting for this for so long. 

a cough brings you out of your fantasies, and you blink rapidly, gathering your bearings. your reflection stares back at you and oh... you're flushed red head to toe and it's screamingly obvious. he chuckles at your flustered state, making you wish for a hole to pop open and swallow you, please. anything to escape the embarrassment radiating off your cheeks.

thankfully, he seems merciful and smiles shyly instead, not that it really helps. "uh," you both start. then stop. "no, you first-" "no, you-" you blink at each other and then it's a giggling mess. he's covering his smile with one hand while you're hiding your face with both of yours. it feels like you're in high school, experiencing your first crush all over again. butterflies dance in your stomach.

"uhm..." you put your hands down to look at him, though you keep one up to hide your smile. it's embarrassing how much your cheeks hurt though he doesn't look any better. "is it ok if i go to the restroom first?" his request feels so out of place from the moment that reality hits you, "oh yeah, go ahead!" gosh what were you thinking? you're his stylist, you're supposed to be professional!

he smiles, unaware of your inner turmoil and gets up, quickly making his way. you're about to look away, take the moment to re-organise your tools and your thoughts, when the way he walks catches your attention. hunched over, walking hurriedly albeit awkwardly. you're about to wonder if he hurt his foot or something when you notice the bright red of his ears and nape. _oh..._

you look away, feeling your heart beat quicken and cheeks flush once more. maybe it's okay to be a bit.. unprofessional...


	2. in his eyes

fuck, he's in deep.

it's his first thought when he greets you, off stage with adrenaline still running through his veins. performing is and will always be one of his favourite things. there's anxiety, of course, being on a spotlight infront of people scares him, let alone hundreds and thousands. all eyes on him, watching. but there's the excitement. the happiness of doing what he loves, with his best friends, with people he knows loves it too, hearing the fan chants and the screams. being an idol is tiring, down right exhausting at times, but it's worth it.

and then there's you. if his legs felt weak from the few rounds of rehearsals they just did, they were surely jelly now. he never understands how you look so wonderful. even when you're standing there and doing nothing. it doesn't make sense. he hides these thoughts behind a smile. it takes everything within him to look calm, as he heads your way. act as if his heart didn't seize as you smiled back, as if he didn't want to just hug and lean on you. fuck, you're so cute. he hopes he doesn't stink of sweat. instead he calls out your name, though it comes out whinier than he expects. he cringes inwardly. "how was it?" he hopes his question distracts you from noticing. it's amazing, you say and part of him swells with pride. the other part tames it - you're only saying that because it's part of your job to. he shouldn't feel so happy over your praise but he does. each time he meets you after a rehearsal or a performance, you never hesitate to tell him that he did great. wonderful. all sorts of positive praise that gets him soaring, legs bouncing restlessly, hands playing with loose threads just so he doesn't do something stupid like jump up and kiss you.

he sits himself in the make up chair infront of you before his impulsivity strikes. "its because of you," he says, and it's true. he never really associated words such as 'beautiful' or 'amazing' with himself before. he looks like any other average guy, nothing special. it's the make up and clothes that look beautiful, putting them on feels more like an armour than an accessory. something akin to video games, where they give a stat boost. without them, he's just another person in the streets.

you persist, "they only enhance what's already there, you're naturally beautiful."

his cheeks warm at the compliment. you're doing it again, making half of him flutter and the other half cling onto logic so he doesn't lose himself. saying what he needs to hear without even knowing it. it warms his heart to no ends. he hopes his blush isn't obvious. 

he barely registers your next words, still processing the compliment, when your hands touch his neck. he barely swallows in his surprise before they're dipping into his shirt and oh- he freezes up.

the room is suddenly ten times hotter as he feels his heart race and blood pump, unable to decide which way it should flow. his ears are ringing and he's forgotten how to breathe because holy shit, you're touching him. wait, that sounds wrong, but no, you're touching him, hand running down his neck, brushing past his collar bone. his throat feels dry and time nonexistent. every passing millisecond feels like a year. the sweat that had cooled on his skin warms up instead, burning in the places you've touched, feeling left lingering. it incites images, fantasies he's had late at night when everyone's asleep and he's left alone with his thoughts. fantasies of him and you.

they start out sweet with soft pecks, holding hands, things he wishes he can do every time he sees you. run up to you, hold you in his embrace, take walks in the park, by the beach, wheverever he can because it's a fantasy in which he works a normal job and doesn't have to worry about fans following him or the paparazzi. he could kiss you in broad daylight and no one would care. he'd be all yours and so would you. all his. 

he imagines your hand in his, how fitting they would be. pictures you in his embrace, holding you while watching a movie or cuddling in bed. you'd fit him perfectly. beside him, in his arms, or holding him. god, and when you'd call out his name, it'd drive him insane. his heart just about ascends at the mere thought of it. in the soft moments when the sun has gone to slumber, kissing its lover the moon in passing, you'd say it in a whisper. a meek 'good night'. he wouldn't be able to resist returning your words with his lips, holding you tighter in his arms, just to hear you say his name again and again. giving into your embrace only to press closer even more, to erase any space between the two of you, almost as if trying to make the two of you become one.

he calls for you like a prayer. in the depths of the night, whispered into your ear, the word 'god' blurs with your name and he repeats it as he kisses his way down your body, head filled with nothing but you.

you, back arched as his lips meet somewhere sensitive. you, lips parsed open, singing sweet melodies. you, hands in his hair, tugging, as he eats you out in earnest sloppy manner. your taste, your voice, your hands on him, skin against his, you, you, you. are all his. and he wants more. you beg for him but he wants more. you grip his arms, shoulders, back, nails digging in so deep they probably draw blood, and yet - he wants even more. he crawls back up and sucks on your tongue, bites your lip and licks the drop of blood that spots. you moan and his head swims with it, you're nose to nose but your legs pull him closer even still. please, you beg, fuck, please, please please, just touch me, just move, and he smiles. oh honey, does he smile. one that you makes you crudely aware you're not going to get what you want but you continue begging nontheless. you don't get it, he wants you to want him as much as he wants you. that is, never enough.

he shakes his head, breaking out of his thoughts. fuck, there's an awkward feeling in his lower area and he's scared to check. a series of prayers, embarrassing memories, and thinking of the elderly and cute animals run through his mind in quick succession. he hopes you didn't notice him spacing out, much less his "problem" and don't judge him. he doesn't know how he'd face you if you do, maybe he'll curl up inside and never leave the dorms again. yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

timidly, he peeks up at your face. you're looking at him, cheeks red, and his stomach lurches. this isn't what it looks like! i mean it is, sorta, but not- not like that! his thoughts are in a frenzy as he braces to explain himself, apologize to you, promise to never set foot infront of you if that's what you want, but you don't move. infact, you don't seem to be looking at him, not quite. all the words he had prepared to say were stuck in his throat. 

a cough escapes him. and he watches, slowly, as you blink. once, twice, then a few more before looking at him. deer in the headlights. it hits him then that you were in your own thoughts as much as he was. he wonders if that's a good thing. you don't avert your gaze, though your face turns redder by the second. fuck, you're cute. you're adorable, devastatingly so. his heart skips a beat. oh, he's going to hell alright.

he can't help letting out a chuckle. it's not quite an end he minds, he thinks, not if it meant getting to meet you.

"uh," you begin to speak but so does he. "no, you first-" "no, you-" you blink at each other before dissolving into giggling messes. he's covering his smile with one hand while you're hiding your face with both of yours and he feels himself soaring again. you're so fucking beautiful when you laugh. he doesn't think he's felt like this before, a tickling feeling within him, whole chest clenching just at the sight of you. god, he thinks for the second time that day, he's in deep.

a moment passes before he speaks again, "uhm..." he hates to break up the moment but there's a certain persisting matter he has to take care of. whether you had noticed or not, it still wouldn't be nice to sit still with something distracting him. though it does bruise his ego abit, to ask this... "is it ok if i go to the restroom first?"

"oh yeah, go ahead!" he shoots you a quick smile before making his way off. it's awkward, he knows, the way he walks and his ears burn with embarrassment, but he doesn't mind. the memory of your laughter replays in his head. it's kinda worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written fanfiction in a good two years but i liked these shorts. they weren't meant to be posted but i figured why not, i want to write more and better in the future. thank you for reading.


End file.
